October 21, 2018

A constant hunger for the pornographic, sex crazed, conversationalists,

Then there’s the rubbing of your clit until it burns like stabbing hot fire and pissing, bursting, cumming for Jesus Christ and fuck sakes for nothing’s,

All the time thinking fill me,Or,Fucking kill me,

And bitching like a barking dog, with no Master and no loyalty and no allegiance and no brilliant, radiant, flame except her god damn appetite, which screams in her depths and says nothing of any importance, humping the fucking fire hydrant with no fucking idea,

There’s no physical without emotional, it’s all there, it’s all one,They all want it,They all have the same holes,Point blank,

What’s your oldest memory?How much pain have you inflicted on yourself?How much pain have you inflicted on others?Do you enjoy the smell of blood

September 30, 2018

I asked the poet Tony Hoagland what he thought about fear. He said fear was the ghost of an experience: we fear the reoccurrence of a pain we once felt, and in this way fear is like a hangover. The memory of our pain is a pain unto itself, and thus feeds our fear like a foyer with mirrors on both sides. And then he quoted Auden: “And ghosts must do again / What gives them pain.”

April 21, 2018

Long ago, I was wounded. I lived to revenge myself against my father, not for what he was – for what I was: from the beginning of time, in childhood, I thought that pain meant I was not loved. It meant I loved.